


Mail Call Grouchy

by yuletide_archivist



Category: MASH (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by Michelle</p><p>"They hate you, too, Hawkeye. You're obnoxious and disliked. So. Feel like making amends and distributing some Christmas mail?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mail Call Grouchy

**Author's Note:**

> This story wouldn't exist if it weren't for Kathleen and her brilliance. Or it would, but with any plot replaced by sodomy -- which isn't a problem, per se, but I think this works much better.
> 
> Written for Hyper

 

 

Colonel Potter's whiskey-mediation session with Hawkeye and B.J. had gone no where in the 45 minutes they had been at it. They might have been getting too old for it -- but who gets too old for _whiskey_? "Know what would cheer you boys up?" the colonel asked. "Deliverin' some Christmas mail."

"What? The mail's here? Why hasn't--"

"Easy, Hunnicutt. Radar's off in Tokyo, he didn't know you could only accept mail from your wife if he'd handed it to you, or he'd come back sooner."

" _What_?!"

"Colonel, you should check the mail -- I wrote to his wife asking him to send a thesaurus for Christmas," Hawkeye said.

" _You_ leave _my wife_ out of _everything_ , got that?"

"Sure! Whatever you say!"

"Hunnicutt, dismissed. Go on back to the Swamp -- head over to the O-Club, have a belt on my tab."

"With _pleasure_."

Hawkeye watched B.J. leave and turned on the colonel. "Why's he get out of detention early?! He threw just as many spitballs as I did, and you don't even know what he does when he's --"

"Calm your horses. Know why I sent him out? Because I _know you_ , Hawkeye. Been here as long as B.J. has and I _know you_ , and I know that _no one_ gets Hunnicutt angry like that without provoking him, and I _know_ that no one provokes him like you do!"

"What! I don't know what you're talking about! That still doesn't answer my question -- why's _he_ get to go back to the Swamp and our stupid little heater? Did you know he throws my aftershave in there? That half-quart cost me two dollars and he's pouring it into the fire as fast as his hairline's receding!"

Potter poured himself another glass, deliberately kept the bottle away from Hawkeye, and calmly replied, "Because I know if I sent _both_ of you back into the Swamp, he'd _kill_ you -- and Winchester would egg him on! And with the way you've been snapping at _me_ lately, I'm not so sure I'd run as fast as I could if you started screaming for help!"

"So what am I supposed to do? Sit here with you for another eight hours?" Hawkeye sulked for a half-beat, and then his face lit up. "Can I bunk with the nurses? Don't send me back to the Swamp, I'm not safe there -- but a bunch of women can't hurt me! They love me!"

"They hate you, too, Hawkeye. You're obnoxious and disliked."

The colonel sipped his shot slowly as the revelation sunk in with Hawkeye. Literally from the looks of his body language -- he leaned on his fist, his shoulders slumped, he rested the whole weight of his upper body on the desk.

"So. Feel like making amends and distributing some Christmas mail?"

"Everyone _hates_ me?" he asked weakly. "And you want me to go into their tents with boxes and letters they can throw at me?"

"Take Father Mulcahy. If the Holy Spirit doesn't protect you, his mean right hook will."

* * *

  
"Hawkeye, you... you wonderful soul! Using your free time to distribute gifts and letters from everyone's loved ones... God bless you, my son!"

"Not so fast, Father -- I'm only here because there's a price on my head and this is a way of cheapening me up a little."

"What do you mean? Trouble in the Swamp? At home? Is this.... well, it's only hearsay, and I hate to seem a gossip, but the nurses had been discussing your actions towards a certain Lieutenant... let's call her K..."

"Least of my problems, Father." Hawkeye and Mulcahy had bundled up and taken the sack of sorted mail out on the compound to begin Radar's usual route -- first, one of the enlisted men's tents, home of Sergeant Zale and several other characters. No one had answered at Hawkeye's first three knocks, so Hawkeye began to slam his fist on the door. "WILL SOMEONE OPEN UP IN THERE? I DON'T KNOW IF YOU NOTICED, BUT SIBERIA'S COME TO VISIT OUT HERE."

As soon as Hawkeye's fist went through the mosquito-netting screen, Zale opened the door and stared at Hawkeye, his fist, and then Hawkeye again.

"Can I help you, creep? Some of us were trying to get some sleep."

"It's Captain Creep to you, _Sergeant_ , and it's three o'clock in the afternoon!"

"Zelmo," a high-pitched voice moaned behind the door. "Come back to your cot..."

"Lieutenant _Kimble_?!" Hawkeye screeched.

"Gotta go --" The door closed quickly and Hawkeye heard furniture being moved in front of it. Hawkeye looked at Father Mulcahy, who was attempting to regain some of his serenity by staring at a spot on the tent material a few feet away. Hawkeye dug into the mail bag, pulled out a stack of envelopes and shoved it through the hole his fist had made. He shoved his mouth through that same hole and shrieked, "I'm keeping both your packages and you'd better hope they're cookies or Mrs. Zelmo's gonna be hearing about this!"

"Hawkeye... your cheek, the other cheek... perhaps... turning..."

But Hawkeye had already marched to the next tent.

* * *

  
"Why isn't this New York?" Hawkeye asked. He and Father Mulcahy were waiting for one of the nurses' tents to answer his six polite knocks.

"Probably because it's Korea," Father Mulcahy answered. "Have you been in New York for Christmas, Hawkeye? It's possibly one of the most beautiful places on earth then."

"Yeah... it is." Hawkeye looked at Father Mulcahy and explained, "My dad and I, well, before we bought our cottage in Crabapple Cove -- it was a summer cottage, but my dad got older and decided he wanted to live there all the time. Before that, we lived in New York. The Bronx. Great place to grow up."

"Hawkeye! Did you really!"

"Ever been to Maine, Father? People in Maine don't talk like me." He grinned and added, "Christmas was always the best there. New York -- I'll give it that, it's pretty filthy most of the time, but when there's snow -- well, you've seen it. That one day it's snowing, when everyone stays inside, before everyone starts tramping on it all on their way to work, when it's just kids outside playing there? It's great stuff."

"Oh, I know that scene quite well," Father Mulcahy said. "Philadelphia is where I call home... I still remember going to school, when it had closed for the snow, with all my brothers and sisters, and playing there all day!"

"Even your sister the Sister?"

He chuckled and added, " _Especially_ her." Mulcahy rubbed his hands together and said, "Really, I don't wish to be unkind to the nurses, but this is getting ridiculous!"

"HEY LADIES," Hawkeye called out in his best Jerry Lewis voice. "OH BOY, HAVE I GOT THINGS FOR YOU GIRLS."

Kelly finally answered the door, glared at him, took the packages and letters, then slammed the door back in his face.

"Merry Christmas to you and the other witches! Enjoy your ritual blood-drinking and baby-eating!" Hawkeye called through the door.

Father Mulcahy stared at the door in shock and then looked at Hawkeye. "I don't believe this is going very well, do you?"

* * *

  
"Yes, I loved the theater!" Father Mulcahy said. They waited outside another tent, both men caught up in their memories about the joys of their respective cities. "Of course, I couldn't afford any proper ones as a boy... or now, I'm sure..."

"Yeah, me either! I mean, my dad did all right, a doctor and all and it was just the two of us, but _five bucks_ to see a Eugene O'Neill play? My dad told me the people in the -- we had these real poor neighbors across the street when I was a kid, and my dad helped them out when he could, and I did, too. Poor as anything and with half a dozen kids--"

"Sounds familiar," Mulcahy replied.

"Yeah-- anyway, he told me their father only made five dollars a _month_ , and -- well, you can imagine! Thinking of them -- of loads of people -- it takes a lot to get me to a big theater. After seeing what people still do _here_ for five dollars -- Charles has a woman come in and do everything for him, laundry, housekeeping, ironing, the works, all for two dollars, and Eugene O'Neill wanted me to spend _five bucks_ on his Oedipus complexes? Sorry, pal, not today!"

"I had much the same feeing... with some alterations, of course... I _was_ in that poor family. Five dollars was a good month, if my mother had sold enough of her... she sewed these sweet bears and sold them to hospitals for children... and then of course, they both drank most of that away."

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Please, no pity! It's Christmas, and we were discussing the theater! My sister and I... yes, my sister the Sister, we would go to these tiny theaters where tickets were usually free, or extremely cheap. Our favorite was in North Philadelphia, where... I suppose they had to be college-aged students. They would put on their most avant garde productions of everything under the sun! Sometimes it would be half _Hamlet_ , half whatever they wanted! A little Tennessee Williams, a little their own imagination! It was a wonderful place..."

"Yeah, college kids! I used to go to those cheap places in Boston all the time -- for a little while, I went out with a theater girl and she always got me in free -- into her plays, Father, stop blushing."

"Oh, no, I'm not blushing... it's the cold, I believe..."

"Well, well, well," a voice called out through the total silence of the camp.

"Hey Sidney! Come join us, we're playing Santa's elves!"

"You look a little tall to be an elf, Hawkeye," Sidney remarked as he joined them. "And Father, you're not chubby enough to be Santa. Nor will you ever be with the food here."

"Did we miss lunch? Goodness gracious, have we been doing this for that long!" Mulcahy said.

"Hawk, you're in a better mood than Colonel Potter told me I'd find you in," Sidney said. "Lemme look at your pupils."

"What? Sidney, I'm _fine_. It's _B.J._ you should be carting off to a rubber room!"

"Hunnicutt? You mean the guy abducted by the government from his week-old baby and extremely pretty wife, plopped down in Siberia for more than a year, and forced to bunk with the nosiest and noisiest person on the planet?"

"Can I just say I'm sick and tired of everyone bringing that up about B.J.?" Hawkeye snapped. "Some of us didn't even have the chance to _have_ a life or family for ourselves, and here he is moping around like a _cow_ every time someone says, 'How's Erin?' Trapper did okay, and he was here longer than B.J.'s been!"

"Fair enough," Sidney replied. "Say, have we talked about that mustache? Swell stuff, isn't it?"

"Get stuffed, Sidney, with all my love and affection," Hawkeye replied.

"I'll be in your tent, drinking your gin and reading your diary if you want me," Sidney replied, and gave Hawkeye and Mulcahy a smirk before leaving.

"I think we should take a short break in the Mess Tent," Father Mulcahy said. "Only because I am sharply remembering my training film on frostbite."

"Sure that wasn't syphillis?"

"... well, I certainly hope not."

* * *

  
"Okay, okay -- _The Princess and Mr. Flamingo_. Don't ask me what it was about! I just know it was terrific and Mr. Flamingo had on a pink suit jacket and a plastic flamingo under his arm whenever he showed up on stage."

"Oh my! Well! Yes, let's see... my favorite had to be... of course. _Caesar's Crumpet_. A retelling of _Julius Caesar_ , but set in a bakery with two rather terrifying soldiers at the front counter... oh, Hawkeye, they would decapitate anyone who asked them about the specials. It was wonderful!"

The doors to the Mess Tent opened and Radar stumbled in, haphazardly bundled in his dress uniform and a floor-length West Point coat three feet too big for him.

"Radar! What the hell happened to you?"

"Drunk as a skunk! What's it to you!" He tried to extend a fist, but it was lost in the extraordinarily long sleeves of the coat. "Hey... why am I wearing a tent..."

Radar walked over to the bench where Hawkeye and the Father sat with their cups of coffee. "Do you want to keep being drunk or would you like to recover and finish making the Christmas mail rounds?"

"Whatever you wanna do, Sally, I'm loose as a goose." And then he fell asleep, burrowed in the sleeves of the enormous coat.

Hawkeye and Mulcahy exchanged a look over Radar's sleeping corpse and continued their discussion.

* * *

  
"Oh, Pierce. I thought you had deserted," Charles said as he entered the Mess Tent. "It's been so... so charming without you here. Do you know how _wonderful_ Hunnicutt is without you around? So silent, so cold, so... haunted and distant? Yes, that's about right. It's all marvelous. And would you believe it -- he enjoys classical music when you aren't there to corrupt him. Why, why, good Lord in heaven, didn't I reach him sooner so that _something_ could be done with him!"

"Charles, were you saying something? I saw you and started thinking of this great show I saw once -- a poodle on a unicycle doing tricks to some Mozart number... maybe it was Wagner..."

Charles began to sputter incoherently and left as quickly as he arrived.

"...A poodle?" Mulcahy asked. "Really?"

"Or a little boy with cotton balls glued on his rear, what do I know?"

* * *

  
After far too many cups of coffee in the Mess Tent, Mulcahy and Hawkeye arrived at the Swamp. They stood outside at a distance and looked inside at B.J. and Sidney playing cards, the fruits of the still between them on a crate.

"What _were_ you two fighting about?" Mulcahy finally asked.

"Don't even remember," Hawkeye said. "I mean, I do but I don't. He's been testy and snappy about everything lately. Thought it was something from home, but he hasn't been out of the tent long enough to let me snoop."

"Well, he has a few boxes here waiting for him -- perhaps that will help."

They cautiously entered the Swamp. The moment of tension was only a moment -- eventually B.J. laughed and grabbed two martini glasses from near the still.

"Christmas peace offering," B.J. said as he held a full glass out. A quick look from Sidney said, quite plainly, " _Take it and shut up._ "

"Playing poker?" Hawkeye asked, martini still untouched.

"Yeah -- up for it? Think I'm gonna nap... any mail for me?"

"Okay... yeah, few boxes, lots of letters..."

B.J. was asleep with a hand of cards in front of him mid-sentence, and Hawkeye turned on Sidney. "Did you _drug_ him? And then give him _alcohol_?"

Sidney motioned to the glass Hawkeye was holding. "Water with a hint of lemon, you creep. I'll thank you to remember I went to medical school, too, you know."

"Sorry."

"Sidney, was that really necessary?" Mulcahy asked.

"Hawk, I'm disappointed in you. Did you know your bunkie here hasn't slept in four days? Bitten his nails down to the bed _and_ ripped off all his cuticles?"

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"My guess is, I don't know, _looking_? Stressed out of his mind, first with all those casualties last week and a, what was it, 36-hour shift in the O.R.? Then three letters in a row: first Erin stands up, then Erin falls and cuts her cheek on a table, and then Erin asks: 'Where's Daddy?'"

"Oh, jeez..."

"Then the phone lines are down!"

"I get the picture, Sidney, thanks."

"And speaking of the picture -- what's been in _your_ craw lately? Every person I talk to around here hates your guts! What have you been _doing_ to these people?"

Hawkeye sat on his bunk and poured himself a real martini from the still. "Look, I knew B.J. was down, but he wouldn't talk to me and the _last time_ he was like this, he told me to leave him alone so I _did_. So I decided to play some pranks on people and get him back on my side!"

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. Confine it to the Swamp next time; don't infect the camp with your merry madness or they'll burn you in effigy, and forget the effigy." Sidney offered his glass for a real dose of gin as well, and after a lengthy sip he added, "And whatever you do, don't make eye contact with Major Houlihan. She was less than amused at your shawl made of love letters from her husband -- in fact, she went from 'less than amused' to 'murderous' in the course of one cup of coffee. Seriously, what were you _thinking_?!"

After a lengthy, awkward silence, Father Mulcahy suggested they go find some Christmas dinner before the Mess Tent was converted for the party later that night.

* * *

  
"Hey... did I sleep through Christmas?"

"Yeah, but we're having another one for you tonight. We finally wised up and combined the best part of Hanukkah -- that eight days thing -- with the best part of Christmas -- everything else?"

"Now the Druids will start complaining about underrepresentation."

Hawkeye looked from the magazine he had been studiously not reading over at B.J., who looked normal enough (except for the mustache). He asked cautiously, "Are we -- are we okay?"

B.J. hesitated, then nodded. "We need to stop being jerks to each other. It makes Charles too happy, and if we're not happy, he can't be either!"

"Why are we always stuck with that guy?"

"Who knows. But at least Charles has better scotch in his locker than Frank ever did."

"Thank you, O Lord, for the tiniest of miracles in this snake pit. If you wondered why no one goes to Mass: now you know!"

"Great prayer -- now let's start inspecting Charles' trunk for materials hazardous to our livers. I'll start testing the mouthwash, you take the scalp tonic."

B.J. sat up and Hawkeye watched him study Charles' trunk before falling back into bed again and smothering himself with a pillow. "Not worth it. I'll dream of better liquor," was what came from his pillow.

"Uh, don't dream now -- I think those are --"

"Choppers -- I hate everything."

"Everything hates you, too! You wouldn't believe how mad everyone was that you slept through Christmas and they have to have another party tonight! Boy, you'll see when we walk in there tonight and they start throwing things at you."

"What fun we'll all have," B.J. grumbled. They bundled up and headed out the door to the O.R., the bus and a buzzing flock of people waiting for them. Father Mulcahy carried one half of a litter and stopped suddenly when he saw Hawkeye and B.J. and called out to them.

"Hawkeye! Another one I just remembered: _The Puppy of Princeton_. You would think it was about some undergraduates and their dog, which my sister and I thought would be adorable! Indeed, it was about some undergraduates and their puppy... and how the puppy was at the center of a web of intrigue and sexual deviancy. It was... interesting, to say the least. Very... artistic."

"Father, pardon my language, but what the _hell_ are you talking about?" B.J. asked. He nudged Hawkeye and said, "I'm going into the bus."

"...Still a bit off?" Mulcahy asked when B.J. was out of earshot.

"He woke up just in time for this," Hawkeye said. "Guess that's our B.J. now." He shrugged and said as he examined the soldier on the litter, "But tell me about this sexual deviancy."

 


End file.
